Jinn and Tonic
by veravoltaire
Summary: Draco Malfoy had gone missing in the aftermath of the war and was presumed dead for years. Hermione Granger, twenty-five year old veteran and now very bored Auror, is tasked to help go through the Malfoy estate's belongings. When she is enraptured by an ancient relic's old magic Hermione unwittingly becomes the accidental master to a face she never thought she'd see again. Geniefic
1. Part One

**AN**: No, I have not seen the new Aladdin. No this piece of fiction does not revolve around anything Disney, however the laws that govern my universe are loosely inspired by the original 80's Aladdin. I repeat, LOOSELY INSPIRED BY. I have tried to integrate aspects of legitimate Jinn-lore as well. You'll find as you continue reading that is this is not meant to be a corn-fest, I hope it comes across as somewhat serious but also pretty cute, because let's face it, there will be a specific amount of fluff involved but also a hefty bit of angst-filled, dark themes and explicit, mature content. You've been officially advised. Epilogue, what epilogue?

**Jinn and Tonic  
Part One**  
-o-

_May 2nd, 1998_

Once they'd seen that Harry Potter was still alive and it was clear the Dark Lord would be defeated, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy fled the scene, disapparating from Hogwarts Castle and reappearing along the pathway in front of the misty manor.

"What are we doing?" Draco growled in exasperation, when he quickly realized it was a stupid question.

Lucius rounded on him, his cloak billowing in turn as they paused inside the grand foyer. "Listen to me now," his voice croaked, desperation glinting in his eyes, "We have a new plan, and our work has just begun. What little hope the Malfoy name has now relies on what we do in these next few minutes," he had Draco's complete attention, he always did. Yet of course now, even though it utterly pained Draco to say it, his father had disappointed him beyond repair, beyond his expectations.

He truly, truly thought that in the end they would _win_ and not have to worry too much about what came after.

How very wrong he was indeed. He'd started to think perhaps they were in over their heads when Potter and his lot escaped from the manor on Easter. When they'd arrived at the battle Draco was willing to give it one more shot, willing to give his all to see to it Voldemort's bidding was done, no matter that at this point his true allegiance had faltered… and as Draco was standing there, his mother's wand drawn on Harry Potter in the Room of Requirement, Crabbe and Goyle at his back like usual – his arm trembled, just as it did when he'd pathetically tried to face Dumbledore. He didn't want to do any of this, he _never_ did. He'd kept up with it for _so_ long, this façade – so greatly so that he believed it, believed he wanted to be just like his father, that he was _supposed_ to be.

No, he was not. He refused it and something within him had finally ignited, telling him that his entire life, all the good and the terrible, had led up to this point, this moment – he just _knew_ it. He may still always be a Malfoy, but as far as Draco was concerned he could do whatever he wanted with himself from here on out. No longer would he entertain his father's ideals, whether or not that meant he wasn't allowed his inheritance anymore, he just didn't _care_. Draco was his own person and that was that. He was lucky he even got away with his life, so he wasn't going to waste it. Surely, he had Potter to thank for that, right? Or had it been Granger who'd had them fly back through the fire to save his good-for-nothing arse? He thought that rather likely.

"Blinky!" Lucius hissed dryly for the house-elf and with a pop, she instantly appeared before them. "I'm going to my bedchambers, into the vault to make some preparations, Cissy _please_, get the downstairs in order and you, Blinky, you must help her," he barked and the poor little elf refrained from cringing away from him but she nodded with a half-smile nonetheless, an elf of few words, and followed Narcissa into the Drawing Room. In one swift motion Lucius was grabbing his son by the front of his ruddy shirt, a threatening anxiousness swirling around in his gaze as he loomed over Draco. "You _will_ go to the library, get together anything and everything that incriminates us and bring it to Blinky and your mother. They'll know what to do,"

"Yes," was all he said, blankly, before heading upstairs; he felt utterly unable to even call the man his father at the moment, he'd broke his heart.

Mostly just then, Draco felt stupid to have thought – albeit for the briefest of moments – that he would actually still have an inheritance at all once the Ministry was through with them. Honestly, they fucking deserved it now. Lucius really had it coming after everything and would be lucky himself if he didn't end up with the kiss.

Thirty-five minutes later and Draco already had a huge pile of books by the entrance, waiting there to be removed from the manor's ginormous athenaeum. There were a number of random old relics and decorative dark items he had lined up there as well, yet still there was more work to be done.

Shelf after shelf, glass case after case, he suddenly stumbled upon a book he'd actually never read before, one he'd never quite noticed… _The Lost and Found_ was the title, and it beckoned to be opened… however, as soon as he removed the dusty tome from its place he saw that right behind where it'd been was a small latched mechanism with what appeared to have a secret cubby.

Odd, Draco thought and motivated by not just curiosity but also the will to depose of any contraband that would harm his family's case, he clicked it open.

Inside there was something quite-brassy looking, old too. He took it out and held it in his hands as he inspected the intricate carvings. It was shockingly warm for having been locked away and the magic humming softly inside it was nothing like Draco had felt before. There was what seemed to be a language etched into the golden layers around it. Draco was confident in the knowledge he'd retained but he was certainly no _expert_ in languages and linguistics, yet if he took a guess anyway he'd say it was ancient Arabic, or Aramaic whatever – one of the two. He might be wrong though, it could be Hebrew and at that moment really wished he was fluent in more than just English and French. The idea of learning Arabic was intriguing and as Draco traced bits of the slender characters with the tips of his fingers, he realized there might've been more than one language there after all… tiny rune-like symbols, almost hieroglyphics which definitely didn't seem to be of the Semitic variety; older than that, maybe Mesopotamian? They definitely weren't Egyptian…

That struck him as very strange and honestly, he wasn't sure what this type of contraption would have even been used for… it was a kettle, perhaps a lamp? Yes that was right, a lamp. At first glance one might've said it was only a plain, old trinket but his blood tingled with adrenaline; the lamp slowly, unmistakably undulating against his palms – as if it was a living, breathing thing. He felt it acknowledge his magic and Draco was sure it was something he should rid himself of quickly, that he wasn't meant to know this peculiar object's true purpose.

Unfortunately there was something within him, something too strong that had him not wanting to put it down, refusing to toss it away. He was positively captivated by its beauty, its mysterious carvings and he surprised himself as he dipped down and puffed breaths along the reflective gold of its girth. Then he used the sleeve of his shirt to buff it up nice and proper like, once more running his digits over its surface.

Then all at once, there was a prick along his spine, a pull to his naval and for a split second he was thinking he'd grabbed hold of a bizarre sort of portkey… that is until he felt himself shrinking and shrinking until his entire essence, his _being_ was syphoned right into the relic, and he was trapped.

At first he held his eyes shut, he was petrified but slowly he peeled them open to find that although he was sure he'd been sucked into the object, he seemed to be floating through _space_ itself. There were twinkling stars and spiraling, glittering galaxies all around him… it was positively ridiculous, and the most stunningly gorgeous and grandeur sight ever for him to witness. Draco felt tears welling at his eyes, unsure if it was from the breathtaking scenery or from the sudden lack of a heavy heart. It seemed there the painful heartache inside him had greatly lessened; could he be dead? It might honestly be a relief if he was.

There was a weird, uncomfortable feeling at his wrists and when Draco gazed down, he saw two platinum shackles magically assembling at his pulse points and around, as if they had come right out of his skin. However, even after fully-formed there was nothing attached to them, no chain. What was the point of that, then?

Next, despite the lack of atmosphere that made up the blanket of the universe, he felt the swish of a figure fly right past him. "Who's there?" his voice quivered to the open nothingness but before his eyes a blue, fiery-like mist materialized ahead and within it was the ethereal image of a man, a man who suspiciously looked a lot like his father. "Who-"

"I suppose I was once Ambrosios Malfoy, although I say, a significant amount of time has gone by now and it has been many years since I've walked the Earthly realm,"

Draco was floored, and if he hadn't been catapulting through lightyears of space-time he would be on the ground from shock.

Ambrosios Malfoy, if he remembered correctly, was something like his great, great uncle – a predecessor who was living centuries before in the 1700s. So how was it that Draco was speaking to him here, inside this… galaxy-lamp?

"I… you're my ancestor!" was all that Draco could manage.

There was a thoughtful, pensive expression upon Ambrosios' ghostly visage and then, "Why, yes. That does seem to be the case, doesn't it? How unfortunate the one who takes my place should have to be one of my very own relatives. Yes, what a pity,"

A specific level of panic began to rise within Draco from the entity's words and he had to ask, "What exactly do you m-mean?"

Ambrosios seemed to be about to sigh in exasperation, he was so tired but the old noble would at least do the young Malfoy a kindness with some type of explanation. "I… came upon the artifact in a museum, one that no longer stands. I found myself perusing a rare selection of relics among these archives, searching for information – nothing of any true significance now, though. The relic chose me, just as it has chosen you," he paused.

"Chosen? For what, exactly…?" Draco's chest had been tightening with a large amount of trepidation. This was definitely not on the list of things he'd wanted. He needed to get out of this place – he was going to be made a prisoner, a prisoner in a stupidly beautiful higher dimension but a prisoner nonetheless.

"You are no longer a wizard but will become more powerful than you ever were,"

"What?" Draco hissed, anger boiling up inside him. He didn't care how powerful he'd be, he was a wizard, through and through.

The ghostly apparition of his ancestor continued, "Some French folk might think of it as a genie, but the ancients referred to them as the Jinn," a chill ran along Draco's spine and he shuddered out a wavering breath, realization setting in. "However, in the untraditional sense, there are very strict rules and laws in which you must abide by and it has everything to do with the old magic that plagues the artifact we're inside. It has encapsulated your entire soul, you belong to _it_ now."

Draco gulped, tears prickling at his eyes but he relented onward. He had to know, "What happened to you, then? Why do you get to go now? Will I ever return home?"

"_Home_," Ambrosios parroted, lightly snickering dismally. "What a lovely, yet mostly tragic concept. I suppose this place here, had become my home. After I did what I did, I never got to see my beloved wife and children ever again,"

"What did you do?"

"About a month after I was imprisoned, the artifact was found by _my_ uncle, who'd always been an evil slug but sadly for me then, he was my master. He could release me whenever he wanted, and banish me away again depending on his whims. I could allow him three wishes –only three, however big or small and I had no choice but to oblige every time. He took advantage of my gifts, and in the end he put my family in danger… something in my magic broke the seal of the artifact, and temporarily I had the capabilities to do as _I_ wished, so I… I killed him. I murdered my uncle because he, he wouldn't listen and I've paid for it forever since. Instantly, I was stripped of my Jinn powers and stowed away within the artifact, lonely and drifting. I haven't seen a soul since, you're the one. I'll be sent to salvation… I'm ready to pass on,"

Draco sputtered out in disbelief, hot tears steamrolling down his face, "You c-can go, I'm sorry,"

"Thank you, lad, I truly apologize it has to be this way. I wish you the best of luck," Ambrosios peered up into the oblivion, "Au-revoir," the fiery mist of his great uncle faded and whisked away into blankness and Draco was left completely alone.

-o-

_June 6th, 2005_

It was a glorious Saturday morning and it was about seven-thirty when Hermione Granger finally arose from her cozy, queen-sized bed. Usually she'd rouse right with the sun, often waking just before it broke the horizon but today – today Hermione didn't have to do a single thing, if she didn't want to. Of course, she had several, inane things she could think of already that could be tended to but none of it was quite urgent, and even she could admit that it was healthy to give oneself a break here and there.

Immediately following the Second Wizarding War and after the reconstruction of Hogwarts that very summer, Hermione had gone back to finish her schooling – something she was extremely adamant about considering she previously thought she'd never again get the chance. It was a blessed gift, to have been able to actually follow-through with her pre-war academic ambitions.

Hermione had found herself to be relentlessly proud as well, over the fact that despite Kingsley Shacklebolt's tempting request for she, Harry and Ron to enlist as Aurors right away, her two best boys had instead chose to return to Hogwarts alongside her. With participation and an intense amount of hard-work, the three of them graduated with flying colors and Hermione decided then to follow her boys to the Department of Magical Law enforcement where they'd became renowned Aurors.

Clearly this had kept the Golden Trio forever in the grasp of the public eye and each of them were frequently questioned, photographed and occasionally harassed by reporters, journalists and trash-talkers of the like. Thankfully it hadn't been too terrible for a good while now and Hermione was feeling practically blissful from all of the solitude she'd been given.

It was almost too much, if she was being totally honest. Yes, she enjoyed being alone most of the time, reveled in it well but recently, she found herself really missing Ronald. Sure, he'd been busy but he hadn't come around to her flat as often as he used to. It was just he was always so tired, or not feeling himself. He never was the same after Fred and everything, and it seemed to catch up with the youngest Weasley brother at the worst of times.

It made him drink… heavily.

That really worried her. She loved him but damnit, Ron could be a lousy drunk. Then again, so could she. Drinking was just not the best idea, unless under special circumstances. It wasn't something to be indulged in so often – it was a highly dangerous substance, for Merlin's sake! And she didn't mean to be such a buzzkill but c'mon, it was the bloody truth.

Perhaps she and Ronald could move in together, there was a cottage not far from Hogsmeade that'd long ago caught her eye; a charming little plot she was positively itching to get her hands on. She could help him there, they could start a real life together, she…

But… did she really want to spend her life doting and coddling Ron, forever waiting to witness him pull himself together again? Did she really want to endure the life he was laying out for them – a life which she'd been forced to think mightn't actually be the life for her? Not if he wasn't going to put in the effort…

Did she _really_ want to turn out to be like Molly, and pop out a randy slew of ickle, red-headed Gryffindors? She certainly used to think it as mildly appealing however… she wasn't that same, naïve person anymore. War changes people far more than we are ever aware of and whether it was for better or worse, Hermione was vastly different now, she was _grown_.

Wild-haired and sleepy-eyed, Hermione sipped on her steaming bergamot tea, closing the kitchen window as she called farewell to the friendly owl who'd delivered her the daily edition of the Prophet. As she unrolled the paper and glimpsed not just the headline but the photo she almost dropped the mug of scalding hot brew and had to concentrate very hard to set it back down on the counter in front of her.

**Narcissa: A Lonely Death**  
**the End of the Ancient House of Black**  
**the Last of the Malfoy's**

Just then, as if on cue, there was a rumble from her fireplace and the floo blazed in a flash as Harry Potter walked into her flat.

-o-

_June 8th, 2005_

Hermione sat in her office after hours that Monday finishing up a proper stack of paperwork before she was on to one last endeavor that evening. The other day Harry had promptly informed her that they'd be required to work with a couple of curse-breakers, one of which being Bill Weasley, to effectively stabilize or destroy every single relic and book that had, in one way or another, fallen under the radar from previous Ministry raids at Malfoy Manor.

After business was understood and underway, she and Harry had reluctantly, got to talking about the sadness of it all.

Narcissa had passed away on her son Draco's birthday, which was June the fifth. If he was still alive, he'd be twenty-five years old. Strangely though, _nobody_ knew if he was or not… it was a great mystery actually. Hermione had on occasion thought on it all for a wistful moment or two and wondered that if Draco _was_ out there somewhere, did he have the type of life he'd wanted? Had it all been worth it? Had he seriously been _that_ much of a coward that he couldn't have even faced the consequences of his deeds? Why couldn't he have been accountable for once in his life? Yes, they would have assuredly been stern about it but Hermione was very certain that the Ministry would have gone easy on him had he simply stayed, because _she_ would have testified on his behalf, Harry too.

Draco knew exactly who they'd been at the Manor that fateful night on Easter, and he hadn't let up, he didn't give away their identities even though it was completely obvious at the time. _That_, that'd taken true courage, she'd thought… and she could tell he felt so guilty, as she was lying there, writhing in the unbearable throes of torture under the hand of his insane relative. It'd been the only thing Hermione could hold onto as she was so sure she was dying – her forearm split open, ruby red blood pouring out everywhere, it was a _mess_. The scared boy with silvery hair stared down at the claret pools and stains of sanguine fluid covering the floor, soaking his classmate's muggle clothing and there was a horror-struck expression adorning his features, a look like no other she'd ever seen on his face. It was as if he finally got it, he finally understood: her blood wasn't dirty, not at all – it was _exactly_ like his own.

Then, although his lips remained trembling, a lifeless look touched his pale eyes. It was a stoic attempt to keep his cool-hearted nonchalance while his bitch of an auntie waltzed around the drawing room screeching offensive insults and profanities as she cruelly tried to interrogate Hermione to submission.

So she obviously didn't wish for Draco Malfoy to actually be dead, but anything would have been better than him turning out to be the running coward he always was. Was it a crime for Hermione to have actually wanted the guy to have changed? In him, there had been so much lost potential…

Over the last seven years Narcissa had practically withered away into nothing; she'd died from her misery, a broken heart and quite frankly, Hermione could understand it. Lucius was also gone, for quite a while now. It'd been the fatal kiss they were told … there was no stopping the Dementors once they got someone they'd really wanted.

The tiny fuzz on the back of her neck stood on end from the mere thought.

There was a sudden rapping at her door and Hermione cleared not only her throat, but also her thoughts. "Come in," she chirped and Harry swooped inside just as she had settled the last of the papers on the top of her stack.

She smiled at the wizard who plopped himself in the chair before her and she couldn't help but be aware at how much he had also changed. Harry was a man now, though his mop of inky-black hair remained messy as ever and he still had that boyish charm as usual, he'd become exceedingly more light-hearted, holding a more optimistic air about him these last few years. He let out a great sigh, stretching a bit, "Plans tonight, then?"

Hermione shrugged, giving Harry a somewhat apologetic look, "Well, actually yes," she admitted. "I was hoping to finally get a good look at some of the artifacts from the Malfoy estate. I had a monstrous workload put on my desk first thing, I just wanted to get it over with and out of the way and oh my goodness Harry, I've just been at it all day," she huffed in exhaustion.

Harry grimaced knowingly, "Mm, you have my sympathy," he stood, readying himself to leave, "Well if I hadn't already a date with Gin, I'd have invited you to get takeout somewhere. Normally I'd tell you to cut yourself some slack and go home for some much needed rest but who am I kidding? It's not as if you'd actually do that," he grinned coyly and Hermione cackled with laughter.

"That is probable," she muttered through her light fits of giggles. "However, I'll have you know Mr. Potter that I give myself plenty of rest. Why, do I not look as if I do?"

"What, no! I didn't say that…" again his mouth widened slowly into a grin, his sparkling emerald eyes gleaming mischievously behind his spectacles.

"Uh huh," she snickered, but the air surrounding them was immensely warm.

Harry Potter had always been and would always be her best friend. That was a comforting thought that Hermione could always count on.

Once she exited her office the rest of the second-floor was already dim-lit and deserted, as it often was for Hermione at the end of an efficiently established work-day. She'd been an Auror for plenty of years now. She felt she'd fully contributed all that she could to that particular department and it was time for her to move on. Her sights were set elsewhere – laws she intended to help put into place, the dream of opening up her own business as an apothecary; a lovely old villa with a greenhouse and garden she wanted to purchase…

The strong-willed, untamed magic, she could feel it, spilling beyond the door from the room which temporarily housed all of the books and relics of Malfoy Manor. It came in waves, echoing straight through her very body as she approached and for a moment, Hermione hadn't the spirit to turn the knob and walk in.

The scholar within her ached for new intriguing bits of knowledge, no matter how dark or ugly, so with a resolute breath she quickly went in and closed the door behind her. She only wanted a wee peek anyway. Maybe she could get a head start if she happened to find anything worth researching.

As Hermione gazed around at everything in semi-detached wonderment, she could already note that there were multiple books she'd never read before. In a hurried whirl of anxiety she picked some of them up and read their titles, their authors and then felt scorned to confess there was a chance she hadn't read _any_ of them.

No, no, that wouldn't do. Hermione was clearly going to be spending quite a few of her nights there in that dusty spare laboratory just pouring over these damnably curious ancient tomes for the remaining time she was permitted to have them. This was a gold-mine for her, a brilliant lost wonder of the world. Hermione had a sense that this could be the very place where she one day would indeed lose her mind.

Kidding, she was only kidding… but she was excited.

She let herself "window shop" for twenty odd minutes or so before she was starting to yawn too much for her liking. It was then she came across a haunting photograph of the last Malfoy's – Lucius, Narcissa and Draco.

She felt her gut wrench at the sight – it had to have been fourth year for Draco, when this photo was taken. All three of them appeared very happy, happy in a Malfoy way – prideful sneers plastered over pasty white skin, shoulders poised in a regal-manner and noses upturned superficially. She focused in on Draco's silver-blue eyes, trying to remember exactly what the boy looked like when he'd been right in front of her so long ago in that far-away castle. Handsome, he was just… he'd been an undeniably good-looking wizard – explicitly insufferable and vile yes, but there'd always been something infuriating sexy about Malfoy that she never ever dared, or cared to dwell on.

And she shouldn't dwell on it now, either.

A misted daze sort of took over her senses as she set the picture back down and something strikingly brassy caught the low-light in her peripherals. There were detailed carvings on the outside of it, an ornate oil-lamp she figured. Hermione inspected closer, recognizing the language to be of old Aramaic. She hadn't any idea what it said or meant, she didn't know ancient Aramaic but she was adept enough to know this was representing either a code, or an incantation.

The other language seemed more like a code as its cryptic hieroglyphs were spread out as tiny markings, finely etched in between the flashiness of the Aramaic. Hermione guessed that one was ancient Sumerian…

Rapidly she started to worry as she noticed that she couldn't remember when she'd taken hold of the lamp, had picked it up without even realizing it. The magic within it was palpable, potent, and absolutely dangerous – Hermione could almost smell it. She thought it would be in her best interest to put the lamp down, for now. She probably shouldn't be messing around with something of that particular nature when nobody else was around to witness it but… she couldn't put the relic down. Literally, she found herself suddenly not wanting to and instead, almost hungrily her fingers grazed along its surface, the weight of its heart heavy against her palms.

Hermione Granger could never have prepared herself for what happened after that.

In an instant there was distinct thrum-like, pulsations coming directly from the object, the lamp in her hands – it reminded her of the mighty strums of an acoustic guitar, or rather it was just like a heartbeat. It just about _melted_ into her very magic, like the toppling thunder of an ocean and she was tossed overseas, taken to the ground in a heap of brief unconsciousness.

-o-

**AN**: I hope you all have a fantastic weekend! Please, if you can spare the time let me know what you think of it so far! I have plenty of fresh ideas for the way this story is going but feedback is always greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	2. Part Two

**AN**: I hope everyone's having a great week so far! Let's get right to the point. Cheers :0)

**Jinn and Tonic  
Part Two**  
-o-

_June 8__th__, 2005_

Hermione awoke with a jolt, her body feeling as if she'd just been slammed into by the Hogwarts Express. She didn't know how long she was out for, but she was sure it was only seconds as she came to notice right away – in stark contrast of the dim-lit laboratory – the glowing, angel-like being standing several feet before her; an other-worldly entity drenched in a silvery-blue aura that shone straight out of his snow-white skin like a blazing, blinding sun.

He wasn't modestly dressed, as the only form of attire fit over his chiseled upper-body was an ebony-black, long vest made of silk. It was enhanced with intricate pewter stitching lining the hem, falling gracefully on his broad shoulders with two lean but well-sculpted arms fixed cautiously at his sides.

There was a storm of several strong emotions raging within this being's dreamily familiar, slicing pale eyes: shocked, amazed and horrified all at once, his playful lips opening and closing from apparent bafflement.

She didn't quite feel scared at first as she stood up, bashfully taking a step forward because more than that she was completely drawn to his engaging and enticing incandescence. She was unable to look away or avoid it, as if she were a moth weaving a dangerous dance with a white-hot flame.

And this celestial, god-like creature had to be dangerous… his power seemed positively lethal. From what she could see it did not appear that he possessed a weapon however Hermione could simply tell on instinct that this was a formidable force, one she shouldn't provoke.

He was stupidly beautiful; so fair, with his pure coconut-milk skin. There were a few long tendrils of silver hair falling around his razor-sharp jawline, framing his pointed, angular face very nicely. The rest of his glossy mane was tied to the nape of his neck in an effortless, low knot. Black trousers, the same silken variety of his vest, hung low on his hips which gave her a distracting view of an Adonis belt and a trail of silver fuzz leading to his naval.

As she gazed back up to his face, it seemed the over-excitement within him had calmed down enough for his blazing aura to diminish. Instead of a blinding sun he'd burnt out like a lightbulb, appearing more normal and non-illuminated.

There was a certain way about him, something she couldn't yet put her finger on as he stared at her with a strange, quizzical expression. He was gazing at her as if she were a friend he hadn't seen in ages, a sly smirk curling along his now, very recognizable mouth…

_Merlin's fucking shit_.

Hermione was far more shocked then she felt when she'd first set eyes upon him as a shining, star-man – which in most, sane people's books would be a wildly mad thing to have witnessed to begin with, even for a witch.

A stifling, loud gasp escaped her of her own volition as she then began spluttering, the total disbelief affecting just about every vital organ. "Why-What?" she could barely speak or function, keeled over with her hand over her face and for this moment Hermione was not sure what to do.

"I… can't believe it's _you_," he was the first to break the ice. His cool, drawling voice sounded almost exactly the same as the last she'd heard it, save for a slightly deeper undertone which carried the weight of his clearly ripened age. He seemed _more_ than twenty-five years old – unexpectedly manly compared to the sinewy, malnourished boy from sixth year.

In one stride he was directly in front of her, peering down from what Hermione would say was an _unnatural_ height. Moments ago she could see he was very tall but now, towering above her he was reaching giant status. Obviously she was petrified, and it took everything in her to look into his eyes. "Draco Malfoy," she managed, her breathing ragged as she clutched at the material of clothing above her heart. "What's happened to you?" she blinked away a lone-tear and it slid wetly down her freckled cheek. Hermione swallowed a lump of mild embarrassment, completely unsure of what to expect from him now.

"Crying for me already," there was a hint of anger between his clenched teeth, his brash voice crass, cracking and detached. "It _was_ always painfully obvious how greatly you pitied my foolish arse. Well, here we are again – another delightful situation where I'm pathetically pitiable. Go on, have your laugh then," he stood there waiting for a plausible, "I told you so," to start spilling out of her but no… the saddened look on her face held no judgement for him whatsoever.

"I'm not going t-to laugh," Hermione sniffed. Did he even know how long it had been since he'd disappeared? Was he inside that lamp this entire time? Had he'd heard any word, any inkling about what'd happened to his mother, his father?

He studied her intently, noticing that despite recognizing the witch the moment he saw her (Draco could _never_ forget those big, chocolate and gold eyes) he had only just realized how much the curly-haired brunette had changed. Her chestnut locks were miles longer, pulled back into a sophisticated plait that's tail reached the small of her back. She was a teensy bit taller, her soft, womanly curves accentuated by a form-fitting button-up and sleek dress-pants.

He could tell from his own transformations that he'd spent a significant while inside the eternal abyss of the relic, but just exactly how long _had_ it been? Frightfully, Granger had blossomed into an older, more mature version of herself and he daren't yet allow himself to fully indulge in the thought but she was _devastatingly_ gorgeous. He'd always felt enraged to admit it, of course but he'd long thought of Granger as very exotic, vivacious and attractive; she'd been a freshly-picked, forbidden fruit he'd had the privilege to look at, to smell but not to taste.

He _did_ allow himself to feel somewhat excited however, because if there was _any_ potential way to sort him out of this miserable existence, brilliant Hermione Granger – the famous brains of the Golden Trio – would most assuredly figure it out.

Ironically enough, she was now also his _master_. She was his key to truly living again, his key to _everything_.

He cleared his throat, he was terrified to ask but, "Please reveal to me, Hermione Granger, how long has it been since I've…" he trailed off – the memory, as well as the concept of imprisonment was ash on his tongue. The witch in question had noticed his far-away look and she willed herself out of her paralyzing astonishment to answer him.

"I-I'm so sorry, Draco… it's been seven years," she daren't speak on, letting that sink in as she fumbled in her brain for, when he inevitably asked, the right way to break it to him about his parents. At her admission the being before her, this god-like Draco, his eyes widened but for the moment he said nothing, the rest of his face stony. Hermione stood unmoving, both of her hands clasped together in front of her, her head bowed as she attempted to focus, to keep her cool. This whole scenario was completely unnerving, to say the least.

_Seven years_? Draco couldn't believe his bloody luck or rather, the lack thereof. He'd figured he was only trapped for a couple of years, give or take, not almost nearly a _decade_. He must've been in denial, borderline hibernating through the twinkling galaxies, the lullaby nebulas. He'd probably fallen asleep much more often than he'd originally thought…

Hermione had waited for him to initiate further communication, she was afraid to peer back up at him but as she did, she caught a mildly playful gleam in eyes, "So, where are we anyway? This room has got Ministry written all over it-" Draco had gazed around him, for the first time observing all of the ornate objects, books, moving paintings and photographs that were littered about and he blanched.

At once he began ambling towards different things, picking them up and putting them down dismally, his silvery stare shining with unshed tears. It was clear to Hermione he was finally seeing the truth of it, right here in front of them – his whole life, his family's legacy, laid out in sad stacks and lonely rows of ghostly memories.

Draco was beside himself; it was almost like he'd up and forgotten his family while he was in the lamp, as if his life was a distant dream, one he couldn't swim to. He'd forgotten _so_ much, he'd had barely a shred of himself to hold onto in there.

His eyes met hers across the room. Granger had warm, warm eyes, the kind he would let himself drown into, if she'd let him look at her for that long.

He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat as he tried to speak, "So they're… gone."

It was a statement, Hermione didn't have to answer it and instead she felt her feet move a few paces towards him. The swift instinct to comfort those who have just suffered a loss was overwhelming but she wisely kept herself at a distance, waiting for his next move.

Draco did not want to entertain his grief right then and there, he had no desire to sob in front of anyone and definitely not Hermione Granger of all people. He wasn't even sure he could cry, at this point – he was so far gone.

If his father could only see him now, Draco didn't exactly want to dwell on what he was sure he'd say, what he would think. Draco was a disgrace to the Malfoy line, the sole reason for its demise. He wasn't even a wizard anymore, and totally unsure of his own power. He'd not really had the chance to stretch his legs, per say – to see precisely all that he was capable of.

Well, he might as well try to embrace this forced existence somewhat. The Earthly realm could be his potential playground, if necessary. Of course, he did have to abide by Hermione to an extent and he was hoping she wouldn't be too insufferable… thus far she seemed pleasant, and surprisingly in tune with his emotions. He never realized just how intuitive the witch could actually be. Draco would be an idiot to underestimate her again, in anything really.

"Draco, please, I…" it was difficult for her, to pry and probe him but she so badly wanted the answers. "Could you relay to me what happened, how you came to get stuck inside the lamp? I-I could help, I'll tell you everything-"

Suddenly he was before her again; his hand reached up to her, pale fingers inches away, almost grazing her face. Hermione didn't flinch away but her breath hitched, a pink fever rising from her neck to her nose. There was a soft smile on his lips, "Thank you – for releasing me, I… I could have spent _thousands_ of years in there, could have spent forever and a day and no one would have noticed, no one would have ever found me," he could have kissed her, but he wouldn't. She probably wouldn't have appreciated that, not from him.

Hermione was speechless, not for the first time since Draco's return several minutes ago; this couldn't be right, had to be a dream. She was asleep in her office, yes. She'd wake from this in only a moment...

Then, out of nowhere the door to the spare laboratory opened, a round light from a wand brightening up the dark room and in stepped one of the many ministry security guards. "Who is that, what are you doing?" his overly-authoritative voice bellowed and he walked towards them, on a mission.

Hermione's belly flip-flopped. What would he do once he realized who Draco was and what was going on? It wasn't like they'd be in trouble but it would certainly raise alarm and cause a bit of discord within multiple departments. Sooner or later, however, it had to be done – she just hadn't thought it'd be so soon. She'd been sure she was making up this entire encounter in her head.

Quickly she held up her badge, "Hermione Granger, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she didn't even need to finish before the guard lowered his wand, a smarmy grin on his face.

"Ah, Hermione!" he said with a sense of familiarity, one that Draco didn't like, "I didn't realize it was you, sorry," Cormac McLaggen stood there, looking just about the same as he did at Hogwarts – stocky, sandy-haired and smug as ever.

'So,' Draco thought to himself, 'Dunderhead's just as useless as I remember,'

"Its fine," Hermione swatted her hand around dismissively, looking back between Draco and Cormac. She was waiting for the moment when Cormac would address the proverbial elephant in the room but the inattentive man never even looked in Draco's direction, and the moment never came.

"Are you alright?" Cormac questioned, staring at her in suspicion. His tone was cordial but Hermione could tell he knew something was up. "You seem, I 'dunno… sort 'a tense. More so than usual,"

"No!" she replied a little too quickly, causing one of his furrowed brows to twitch, "Not at all, I was just… finishing up here, getting a few things situated in preparation for tomorrow. I'll be doing a fair bit of research in this room, so you can expect me to be in here a lot, possibly even after hours like now. Just a friendly warning,"

Cormac seemed relatively satisfied with her rushed explanation – he of course, wouldn't dare question her further. She was, after all, permitted to freely use the department to her liking and, with her being an Auror, he was very much below her station.

"Thanks for the heads up," he responded, "Will you be okay by yourself?" he saw the disgruntled expression on her face and immediately followed up with, "Just… let me know if you ever need a hand with anything. I'll be happy to help," With that the unwelcome guard walked out the door and closed it behind him.

Hermione let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She'd found she felt more like herself now, she had a surge of energy. She was ready to look Draco in his platinum eyes and relinquish from him the truth of his disappearance.

"He thought I was by myself?" she started and the silvery man was amused. "That's… interesting. So, do you know – can _anyone_ else see you, or will it be only I who'll have the privilege?" her mouth was curled into a small smirk, the cheek in her voice evident.

"From what we've just witnessed I suspect that's the case," Draco replied, returning her smirk but he turned away from her, scratching his chin in contemplation. She wanted to know how he'd come to be in the lamp, she wanted to _know_.

It felt to be a hard story to tell but he knew it'd make him feel better to vent to her his woeful tale. It was honestly just nice to be able to talk to somebody at all. Once upon a time ago, Hermione Granger would've been the last person in Wizarding Britain he'd let himself converse with but this was a vastly different chapter of his life, and he wasn't that insolent wizard boy anymore.

It'd taken a while, sitting there in the comforting deepness of the dark room but Draco was finally done telling her his account of that day after the battle, on May 2nd, 1998. He told her how he'd found the lamp in the Manor's library, been allured by it and then syphoned inside. The bit of his great uncle Ambrosios strummed Hermione's curiosity strings and the cogs within her mind were turning and turning, he could see it written all over her face. There was many a time he'd seen this look on the Gryffindor; it was a hungry look – she wanted to know more and more, not nearly caring for consequence.

Her hungry expression went to an abrupt halt, as he explained the part where Ambrosios awoke to find he had a master, yet she hadn't interjected. She was patient and allowed Draco to finish.

"I can't believe you're really…" she stared at him, Draco noticing something like amazement flutter across her eyes, "I know _some _things but unfortunately my knowledge of the Jinn is pretty limited… there are water genies yes, but whatever you are… it's very, _very_ different." The connotations this brought both excited and frightened Hermione. "I'm going to, of course, look into all this. I'm going to help you, Draco,"

He chuckled lightly, a cynic at heart, "You know, not that I'm ungrateful or anything but why, Granger, would you _want_ to help me when you now have the upper-hand? I am nothing but a mere slave at your feet," he began contritely but she only gazed at him, confusion etched between her brows. "Seriously, if you wanted to get revenge on me, you could use up all your wishes and send me straight back into the relic for good. Don't you want to use my powers to your advantage? Anyone else would…"

Hermione was a bit flabbergasted, taken off guard by his indifference but she shouldn't have expected anything less. "I wouldn't _do that_ to you, or anyone else for that matter," the thought alone made her feel bitterness. How could anyone ever live with themselves after doing something like that to another soul? There were probably countless, lonely Jinn out there, just waiting for someone to come along and release them from whatever object they'd been bound to, even if only for a little while. "I don't know what you're thinking exactly, but you don't deserve to be punished Draco Malfoy, especially now."

Her answer shouldn't have shocked him, but he still felt that way as he silently stared into the ocean of his family's dead dynasty. "Thank you…" he said quietly, tears he wouldn't release stinging his vision.

If it was up to him, he'd want Granger to take this opportunity and use at least _one_ of her wishes because if she didn't, this was going to be a lot less fun.

-o-

**AN**: Don't worry, the death of his parents will eventually catch up to Draco and he'll let himself grieve properly. Not yet, though. As usual, let me know what you think! Feedback is genuinely so appreciated, thanks again for reading. I hope you have a fantastic rest of your week and a great weekend!


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